Family dysfunction at its finest…

My 26 year old sister is snoring on the couch, despite the constant requests for her to sleep in her room.  At least she’s sleeping because I cannot adequately express the disdain I have for her when she is awake.  During one of the pointless attempts at getting her to go upstairs, our mother asked her if she would clean the bathroom or at least get her dirty underwear out.  My mom pointed out that she wasn’t the only one who uses the bathroom and my sister quickly retorts “I don’t care about that Bitch.”  I’m that bitch. I’m that bitch who cleans the motherfuckingnasty bathroom because she is too lazy to. I’m that bitch who is never home because I work 50-60 hrs a week with an hour commute each way.  I’m that Bitch who flew across country to move her back home when she needed help.  I’m that bitch who gave her money when she needed it.  I’m that bitch who she threatened to “fuck up” my “nasty face” last week.  

I’m not perfect and I do not pretend to be.  This week has been hard, and I probably have been a bitch.  I have to remember she’s a Borderline and an untreated one at that. But I have my own shit going on.

My friend is dying. In the scheme of things this is most important.  I was able to see her while she was awake and alert. She is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever had the privlidge of knowing. I’ve had the daunting responsibility of informing others of the situation.  I get taxed with this because I’m the non-cryer- the one who can give the information without breaking down. Except this time I’ve not been so great.  I do well when I have to, but I’ve broken down more than once over this.  

Before all of this I had stopped taking my medication.  I like how I feel when I’m off of the meds, until it just becomes to much and I can’t stop the crazy obsessive thoughts.  I know I need to go back on them but I’m having a hard time starting.   I’m sure this has added to my familys not so new description of me- that bitch. The therapist would not be happy if she knew about the med situation… and I’m sure it contributes to my last “relapse.” I’ll write on that later.

I guess I’ll get back on topic- my dysfunctional family.  My sister is still sleeping on the couch, I’m here writing, and my mother is baking a cake so she can later tell us we are fat and shouldn’t eat it.  Okay. So she won’t say I’m fat, she just says little comments about how none of us “need it.” She’s the queen of passive aggressive under handed comments that make you feel like shit.  It doesn’t really matter how old I am, I can’t seem to not let her affect me.  

I read an article on parental verbal abuse earlier (posted on twitter) and some of it hit home.  I know on some level my mother loves me, but not a day goes by that she doesn’t say to or in front of me “never have children, it’s not worth it. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t.” Even as an adult this is hard to digest.  Thanks mom, for not wanting me. 

I can’t say the dysfunction starts with my mom; she has had her fair share passed on to her.  That’s her story to tell, though she doesn’t recognize it as dysfunction.  I only have recognized it as such after years of therapy. 

My sister, the non borderline, somewhat normal of the four siblings (I have a brother too), and I sat up last night talking about how crazy making our family is.  It started when I told the sis that our mom seemed wholly uninterested and unsupportive when I’ve tried to speak with her about my dying friend.  Apparently she cares because she has mentioned it to my sisters, but she certainly shows no support or even asks how my friend is holding up. 

I’ve never felt completely supported.  Everything must subtlety revolve around my mother.  And if we express any kind of hurt from any action she takes, we are being sensitive and certainly pay the price.  She wants each of our loyalty and has set up a dynamic such that we all will sell the other down the river to gain favour with her.  It’s easier being on her side than against her.  I’ve never felt more convicted than when my mother is not happy with me.  If I try to speak with her about it she will ask me “how’s the weather today? It feels nice out here.”  That’s her way of telling me I’m too sensitive and she doesn’t feel comfortable having real conversation with me.  Real conversation would mean she would have to admit to some feeling or emotion that she refuses to acknowledge.  How do I know for certain this is what she’s doing? Well…

The somewhat normal sister, after a therapy session, tells our mother “it makes me feel bad when you say xyz to me.”  The response was in classic mother form- “ok.”  Then she went to bed. And called me.

“Can you believe she said that? It makes her feeeeeel bad. I can just hear the therapist telling her to tell me how she feeeeeels.” Of course I laugh because at the moment I’m not the one who is the target.  I do sort of agree that my sister is a little sensitive- but our mothers reaction was juvenile.  For a month it was the running joke with my mother “maybe I shouldn’t say that to you, you know it makes X feeeeel bad.” 

I’m no PhD, but I’m pretty sure my inability/difficulty to identify and acknowledge feelings has something to do with my mother.  

I’ve spent years trying to just figure out how I feel. And years trying to realize it’s okay to have emotions.  And I’m trying desperately to not fall back into old juvenile behaviors now that I’ve moved back into the madness.

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